


Despacito.

by kassanova



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: I am so sorry, I am such Trash, M/M, Please Don't Hate Me, What Is Wrong With ME, despacito, i don't normally write stuff like this, i wrote this right after the song came out, klance, voltron legendary defender - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-02-11 16:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12939363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassanova/pseuds/kassanova
Summary: “I know what we need,” Lance spoke up finally, leaning his mop against the cabinets. “We need a little la música, wouldn’t ya say, Keithy-boy?”Keith hid his cringe in his elbow. Lance's music taste was the worst. “No thanks,” he replied, “I already have you distracting me from my work, and I don’t need your stupid, horrible singing to do any more damage to my focus.”“Oh, you can’t just handle the way I moo-oooove,” Lance sang at him, wiggling his eyebrows as he did some kind of weird Latin step-dance in a little circle and shot Keith one of his signature shit-eating grins. “You think my hips are sexy.”Keith felt a violent heat rise to his cheeks as his eyes wandered down to watch Lance's hips move as he danced.Jesus. He really did think Lance's hips were sexy.At that point, there was only one thought running through Keith's mind:/This was a mistake./"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so i'm gonna make this short, and to the point. i literally wrote this after hearing despacito for the first time like seven months ago, and i've been debating on whether or not i should post this, but i figured "what the hell"--my life can't get any worse than it is, now, so i'll post it anyway.
> 
> i normally don't write stuff like this, but whilst under the influence of four cups of coffee during a three-o'-clock-a.m. fanfic-writing spree, this piece of shit came out. there's an epilogue for it, too, but i'll debate on posting it later. 
> 
> enjoy, i guess.
> 
> ((side note: this is in keith's point of view, just to clear up any confusion.))
> 
> (please don't hate me.)

                “Why were _we_ the ones who ended up having to scrub the floors in the kitchen??”

                I huffed and dipped the rag dangling in my hand in a bucket of water again. I was getting really sick of his complaining. “Because you lost rock-paper-scissors for us,” I snapped at him. “And you threw paper when Hunk threw scissors.”

                Lance’s bottom lip poked out as he sulked, but that was enough to shut him up.

                The silence between us was so uncomfortable. I felt like I should’ve said something, but I didn’t.

                After all, I didn’t wanna risk saying the wrong thing while someone else was listening and blowing our entire cover. So far, Pidge was the only person who knew that our rivalry-rooted relationship had turned into a romantic one. (That we knew of, anyway. I had sneaking suspicion that the other Paladins were catching on, but I didn’t really care.) For now, we intended to keep it that way.

                “I know what we need,” Lance spoke up finally, leaning his mop against the cabinets. “We need a little _la música_ , wouldn’t ya say, Keithy-boy?”

                I hid my cringe in my elbow. His music taste was the worst. “No thanks,” I replied snarkily, “I already have _you_ distracting me from my work, and I don’t need your stupid, horrible singing to do any more damage to my focus.”

                “Oh, you can’t just handle the way I moo-oooove,” he sang at me, wiggling his eyebrows as he did some kind of weird Latin step-dance in a little circle and shot me one of his signature crap-eating grins. “You think my hips are sexy.”

                I felt a violent heat rise to my cheeks as my eyes wandered down to watch his hips move as he danced. Jesus. I really _did_ think his hips were sexy. I ripped my eyes away from him and bit my lip, embarrassed. I was right about one thing; this really _was_ gonna make concentrating on my work more difficult. This was a mistake. I _knew_ I should’ve picked Pidge as my chore partner for the week. I wasn’t gonna get anything done. “I mean, God, Lance. You have hips like freakin’ Shakira.”

                He chuckled at me. “Ohhh, baby,” he purred as he picked up his iPhone and started scrolling through his music library, “Shakira ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

                I ignored him, instead scrubbing the floor harder. Maybe if I tried really hard to hurry up and finish, then he wouldn’t have time to dance….

                To my horror, he put his _entire iTunes library_ on shuffle. The first song to play was “Don’t Cha” by the Pussycat Dolls. _The Pussycat Dolls._ My boyfriend was a fucking meme. I wanted to puke.

                After that was some obscure Kesha song that I had only heard him hum under his breath every now and then, and then an older song by P!nk (which I didn’t mind as much—P!nk really _is_ pretty great).

                                And then it happened.

                I heard the guitar as the song began and groaned as my fellow Paladin let out a loud, enthusiastic whoop that increased steadily in volume. “THIS IS MY FREAKIN’ JAM!!” he screeched, tossing his head back and forth and doing some kind of goofy fist-pumping to the beat.

                “Jesus, no,” I whispered silently. Not Despacito. Anything but Despacito.

                “JESUS YES!!” he yelled. He gripped the mop handle like a standing microphone and began blurting along with the music.

                I prayed faithfully for death.

                “COME ON OVER IN MY DIRECTION, SO THANKFUL FOR THAT, IT’S SUCH A BLESSIN’, YEAH!! TURN EVERY SITUATION INTO HEAVEN, YEAH!! OHH, YOU ARE, MY SUNRISE ON MY DARKEST DAYYY, GOT ME FEELIN’ SOME KIND OF WAYYY, MAKE ME WANNA SAVOR EVERY MOMENT, SLOWLY, SLOOOWLLYYYYYY!!!”

                If I had had a dollar for every time I had heard Lance sing Despacito in the past two months, I’d have been a rich man. I didn’t even really know how in the _heck_ he had even _heard_ that song—we hadn’t even been on Earth since it came out. I scrubbed the floor harder, thoroughly annoyed.

                Lance didn’t even glance in my direction. “YOU FIT ME, TAILOR-MADE, LOVE HOW YOU PUT IT ON, GOT THE ONLY KEY, KNOW HOW TO TURN IT ON! THE WAY YOU NIBBLE ON MY EAR, THE ONLY WORDS I WANNA HEARRRR, BABY, TAKE IT SLOW SO WE CAN LAST LONG!!!”

                And then I made the mistake of looking up at him.

                His hips rolled to the beat of the music, his eyes closed as he moved. “ _Oh, tú, tú eres el imán y yo soy el metal! Me voy acercando y voy armando el plan! Sólo con pensarlo se acelera el pulsoooo!!! Oh, yeah! Ya, ya me está gustando más de lo normal, todos mis sentidos van pidiendo más! Esto hay que tomarlo sin ningún apurooooo… DES… PA…. CIIITOOO!!!”  
_  
                Oh, God. Oh, _god._ I could feel my cheeks growing even hotter as my eyes glued themselves to those hips as the music continued.

_("Quiero respirar tu cuello Despacito, deja que te diga cosas al oído,_

_Para que te acuerdes si no estás conmigo, Despacito!!”)_

                He was right. Shakira really _didn’t_ have anything on him.

                This little episode continued on for another thirty seconds, with him doing some little dance that I was sure was supposed to be goofy, but sweet mother of _Harrison Ford_ it was hot as _frick._ It literally made my mouth water—

                                And then that jerk _pulled me off the floor_ and _started swinging me in circles with him._

                “No, no, no!! I can’t dance!!” I screeched at him, annoyed. “Let me go!!!”

                “Nonsense, the other day you slow-danced to Elvis pretty well!! This isn’t much different!!” he yelled over the music.

                “It’s a _lot different!!”_ I screamed back.

                He ignored me, laughing. “Here, let me teach you! Just follow me!!”

                He moved one of my hands to his waist and then placed his own on my shoulder, clasping our free hands together. The music continued, with Lance rolling and twirling those godlike hips all the while. He pulled me closer into his chest, spinning me in circles occasionally, laughing at how clumsily I bobbed this way and that and muttering some of the Spanish phrases under his breath in my ear in a way that made shudders jolt down my spine.

                “ _Quiero ver bailar tu pelo, quiero ser tu ritmo! Que le enseñes a mi boca, tus lugares favoritos…”_ he sang—not nearly as off-key as he normally was, might I clarify—as he chuckled at my bewildered expression as he took my hands and pressed my palms against the exposed skin underneath his pale-blue t-shirt. I stared at them, wide-eyed and blushing, then looked up into his eyes.

                The expression in them made my mouth open and close stupidly—the way they gazed so deeply into mine, the playfulness within their depths covering an emotion that was much more teasing and seductive.

                It wasn’t something I was used to.

                                At all.

                “ _Déjame sobrepasar tus zonas de peligro, hasta provocar tus gritos!! Y que olvides tu apellido_ ….”

                I wanted to die. I wanted to die. My eyes kept flickered back and forth between his hips and his eyes in utter disbelief. I couldn’t breathe. The air wouldn’t come, as desperately as I wanted it to, as badly as my lungs ached. And it was all because of _him._ What on _earth_ was he doing?!

                “ _Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito, nos vamos pegando, poquito a poquito! Cuando tú me besas con esa destreza, veo que eres malicia con delicadeza….”_ he sang lowly, his lips brushing my ear and his hands moving to my hips, “ _Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito, nos vamos pegando, poquito a poquito…  
Y es que esa belleza es un rompecabezas, pero pa' montarlo aquí tengo la pieza….”_

I was getting dizzy—but not from his spinning me around, no. It was from being so close to him like this. I wasn’t used to being close to _anyone_ —one of Lance’s favorite things to make fun of me about was my lack of experience in the relationship department—and here he was, rubbing circles in my hips with his thumbs, pressing my hands against his bare skin, dragging his lips across my cheekbones and muttering Spanish in my ear. I was close to hyperventilating.

                “ _DES… PA… CITO!!_ ” he shouted, tossing his hands in the air and twirling in a circle, his hips still doing that movement that drove me insane. The thing was, it wasn’t just how he was dancing that made me so hot under the collar.

                It was the way he moved with such _ease_ , like he was born with a different bone structure that gave him the mobility to move his hips so _smoothly._

                His eyes were closed in the heat of his movement as he spun slowly, effortlessly, my fingertips dragging along the bare, tan skin of his waist as he did so. His lips were parted slightly, his unruly coffee-colored hair bouncing in unkept waves on his forehead. I could see no trace of sweat on his brow, no evidence of fatigue or any sign of effort on his part. And here I was, standing in front of him, gaping like a complete moron at this godlike, sultry being that had somehow left me completely starstruck in a matter of two minutes and forty-seven seconds.

                And God, it was so _sexy_. My heart was throbbing so hard in my chest that I was sure it would explode. I wanted to snatch those hips back in my hands and pull them close to my own, to feel them against mine as I kissed him as hard as I possibly could. I wanted him, dang it. I shouldn’t have felt that way. We had only been together for a week and a half. But at that moment, I _craved_ the rush of his skin, the heat of his touch, the taste of his tongue. I wanted his kiss so badly that I forgot that we were supposed to be cleaning, forgot that we were just messing around and procrastinating, forgot that our relationship was supposed to be a secret.

                I wanted his kiss.

                                And I took it from him.

                His body froze in shock as I shoved him hard against the kitchen counter, pinning him between it and myself and twisting my fingers of my right hand in his hair. Our eyes met for a moment, almost like I was asking for silent permission, the tips of our noses barely brushing against each other’s. I had just enough time to catch an unfamiliar (yet oddly intriguing) glint of consent in them before I crushed his lips against my own.

                I felt him relax beneath me as he gave into me, his lips molding more firmly into mine, his arms locking around my waist and pulling me deeper into the kiss. Our lips moved passionately against each other’s, our bodies colliding as we jerked each other closer, each of us desperate to feel every square centimeter of skin on the other’s bodies, each of us craving the intimacy of each other’s presence. I felt his tongue tickle the inside of my mouth and let a moan escape my lips. God, he tasted incredible. I wanted that taste to imbed itself into my memory, to forever remain on the tip of my tongue. My hands were unconsciously slipping underneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the smooth skin of his back, the slight layer of sweat that had begun to break out on his flesh in the heat of the moment. I had never, ever been this close to another human before—and I was loving every second of it, every pulse of adrenaline that it sent thundering through my veins.

                He tilted my head to the side with his nose and trailed starving, insatiable kisses down my jaw and the muscles of my neck, humming lightly with bliss as he did so, sending wave after wave of delicious ecstasy ringing down my spine and to my toes and back again. I let out another moan involuntarily, a little louder this time. It almost felt like the moaning made it feel even better. I bit down on my bottom lip to hold back a laugh. He was going to kill me—his lips had hit just the right spot on my throat, and the music had reached just the right lyrics (ones that I could actually understand, at least)—

                (“ _This is how we do it down in Puerto Rico,_

 _I just wanna hear you screaming,_ _‘_ _¡Ay, Bendito!’”)_

                                                —that really got what little grip on reality I had to slip away.

_¡Ay, Bendito!_

                I had heard him groan that phrase under his breath enough or yell it in exasperation to know what that phrase meant. _¡Ay, Bendito!_

                                _Oh, my god!!_

The thought hit me like a freight train.

_Holy shit, I wanted to hear him screaming that so bad._

                I wanted him to moan that phrase as his fingernails dug into my hips, wanted him to scream it as his fingers grasped at my sheets, wanted to see those gorgeous blue eyes roll into the back of his head, wanted to hear him gasp my name in ecstasy and throw his head back on my pillow.

                I wanted him.

 _Fuck,_ I wanted him.

                I had never felt this way about another human before. It was so alien, so unwanted—but at the same time, I wanted this feeling more than anything else. What even _was_ this feeling??

                His back was now pressed against the cold, smooth countertop, his hands snaking their way underneath the hem of my tee-shirt, one leg hesitantly wrapping itself around my waist. I groaned and locked it against me with my left hand, diving back into his lips once more.

                It was then that I realized—

                                —This… this was _lust._

Pure, unadulterated _lust._

Normally, the thought of such a strong feeling would have scared the shit out of me.

                                But, instead, I welcomed it.

                He let out a small moan as my hands pinned his wrists to the countertop as I took his bottom lip between my teeth, and then—

                He grunted suddenly and ripped himself out of my grasp and launched me away from him, his eyes wide and wild and frantic. “Footsteps,” he gasped, still breathless from the kiss, “footsteps, Keith, footsteps…!”

                I panicked and staggered drunkenly back to my bucket and rag and fell to my knees again, slapping the rag on the floor and scrubbing furiously. I heard Lance scramble frantically for the fallen mop handle as the footsteps grew closer. I could barely hear Beyoncé singing about surfboards or something behind the loud, drumming _thump_ of my heartbeat in my ears. I felt like I had just chugged about half a bottle of vodka.

                His lips were like the finest of wines.

                                                They made me drunk out of my _mind._

                And I still craved the toxicity of his touch. My body was tingling all over from the sensation of him, from the feel of his legs wrapped around my waist, from the feel of his hands trailing slowly down my body, from the feel lips on my ear, on my neck, on my own lips. My hands were trembling.

                                Damn.

                Just then, Shiro poked his head around the corner. “Hey, guys, everything going okay?”

                “Yeah, going great,” I replied nonchalantly. My mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. The words came out more like, _yeah, gung gray_.

                He smiled and gave a jaunty wave. “All right, well Pidge and Hunk just got done re-calibrating the security system, so let us know when you’re both done and we can start the movie.” With that, he disappeared out the door.

                I exchanged a look with Lance. His eyes held my gaze steadily, a serious emotion flickering in their depths.

                “Why are you staring at me like that?”

                He only smirked at me, then crossed the room to where I had sat on the floor and knelt down to press another long, passionate kiss against my lips. It wasn’t anything like the previous one, but it was still enough to take the very breath from my lungs. “There, is that an okay answer?”

                I never opened my eyes, dazed. “I dunno, I didn’t get it. Tell me again.”

                He laughed and kissed me again, a devilish grin appearing across his face as he pulled away.

                Not another word was said between us as we finished cleaning up the kitchen floor, save the soft singing that Lance cooed underneath his breath as he mopped.

                                                (“ _I’m weak, and what’s wrong with that?_

_Boy, oh boy, I love ya when I fall for that….”)_

A quick glance in his direction showed his hips swaying in time to the beat as he busied himself, oblivious to my silent admiration. I was weak, all right.

That song was definitely appropriate for the situation.

                Once we had both finished cleaning the floors and wiping down the counters, Lance crossed over to me again, grabbing my waist from behind and pulling my body close to his own before nipping my ear playfully. “You know, Keith,” he began, his voice low and smooth as velvet, “my hips roll like that in the bedroom, too. If you ever wanna test it out, then… Just let me know.”

I turned my head to stare at him in shock as my entire face grew hot with embarrassment. He just chuckled darkly and dropped another kiss on my cheek before reaching for my hand and tugging me toward the door.

                We left the kitchen hand-in-hand, only letting our fingers slip from each other’s grasp as we entered the room where the other paladins awaited us.


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.
> 
> after much contemplation, my lovely best friend and my lovely god-big convinced me to post the epilogue.
> 
> and, now, thanks to my >lovely< >best< >friend< and my >lovely< >god-big<, there is a part two in the works.
> 
> aaaaaand, it may or may not be a lemon. i'm still debating. 
> 
> so, um, yeah. be on the lookout, i suppose.
> 
> ((epilogue is kind of a filler chapter, just to keep you guys satisfied until i get part two written. heads up.))  
> ...  
> ((god, this fic was a bad idea.))

                “You danced to _what_ in the kitchen?!?”

                “Despacito. You know, that annoying Justin Bieber song that Lance has been singing all over the castle lately.”

                Pidge stared at me in utter shock. I blinked at her.

                “What?”

                “Keith… do you even know what that song is _about?!”_

She almost sounded like a mother scolding a child who had said a bad word in front of Grandma at Thanksgiving. I was starting to get the feeling that this was about to be a horribly enlightening conversation, whether I wanted it to be or not.

                “Probably.... dancing? Something stupid. Come on, Pidge. It’s _Lance.”_

_“KEITH AKIRA KOGANE, THAT SONG IS ABOUT HAVING SEX. LIKE, SERIOUSLY.”_

                I felt my eyes grow wide. “Wh… what?!”

                She whipped out her smartphone and started typing furiously on the keypad. I could hear the click-click-clicks of her fingers as they danced across the screen, the clicking noises coming so quickly now that they were practically running together. Man, her fingers were _flying_.

                After a moment, she shoved her phone in my face.

                “READ THIS, YOU INNOCENT LITTLE _MOTHERFUCKER_ ,” she shouted at me, pushing her gold-rimmed glasses further on the bridge of her nose.

                I furrowed my eyebrows and took the phone from her hands, my eyes scanning down the page. Slowly, I felt the color draining from my face. Apparently, the song really _was_ a lot raunchier than I had expected—

 _(“I want to smell your neck slowly_  
                                Let me whisper things in your ear  
                                So that you'll remember if you're not with me  
                                Slowly  
                                I want to undress you with my kisses, slowly  
                                I sign the walls of your labyrinth  
                                And make your whole body a manuscript—”)

                —it made my breath catch in my throat. The images that had popped into my mind during that passionate little session in the kitchen with Lance found their way into my brain again.

                                I nearly choked on my own breath.

                                                _Dear God, dear God, no, no, no, no—_

                “ _Do you see what I’m saying now, Keith?!”_

                I swallowed hard and handed her the phone in silence. I didn’t really know what to say.

                                To be honest, I didn’t really wanna _say_ anything.

                                                I wanted to crawl into a hole and _die_ more than anything else.

                And then, the realization hit me like an eighteen-wheeler.

                Lance was _Cuban_. Spanish was his _native language_.

                                In other words: Lance Charles Julio Esteban McClain had known _exactly _ what he was saying when he had sung that song to me.

                That thought made me squeak audibly in total embarrassment and slam my face into the arm of the couch.

                “Keith, what the actual _fuck_ did you _think_ that song was about?!”

                “ _I DIDN’T KNOW!!! I THOUGHT IT’D BE ABOUT SOMETHING MORE… I DUNNO…?! INNOCENT?!”_

                “Good _God_ , man! That song is, like, _detailing_ how that guy wanted to do that girl...! You couldn’t _sense the mood_ or something?!?”

                “I mean… I… I had a _feeling_ because of the way he was moving, but I didn’t—I wouldn’t—I couldn’t have _known,_ I grew up around a bunch of _white people,_ I don’t speak _Spanish_ —!!”

                “WELL, YOUR _BOYFRIEND_ DOES, SO YOU SHOULD PROBABLY _LEARN_.”

                I didn’t have a response to that. What was I _supposed_ to say to that?

                Pidge and I sat there in dead silence, the moments ticking by as the magnitude of her enlightenment sunk in. My face felt like it was _on fire_.

                I don’t think I’ve ever been that embarrassed in my entire _life_.

                                For a minute, I contemplated smashing my head into a wall.

                                                … _And_ ejecting myself out the air lock.

                I also contemplated the way I had kissed him after that. I wondered if that gave him some kind of green-light signal, like _hey, we just danced to a raunchy song about a man being really, REALLY in the mood for some nice, passionate, slow sex, and now I really want it, too._

                I let a loud, frustrated growl rip from my throat as I stood abruptly to my feet and crammed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.

                                To be honest…?

                                                That thought made me panic.

                I mean, I wasn’t gonna lie—maybe I _would’ve_ done something with Lance, but….

                But, I mean, _come on_ —it hadn’t even been _two weeks_ since we had started dating _._ We had hardly even begun developing as a couple yet. I didn’t want to portray myself as the kind of douchebag guy that just assumes that the only thing to a relationship is the sex—I had seen too many decent human beings get trapped in that sort of relationship back on Earth, and the mere thought of it made my stomach churn in outrage.

                No. I couldn’t be that kind person. Lance deserved better than that.

                                Lance deserved the whole _fucking_ _universe_.

                But, at the same time, those _lyrics…_

                                _No, Keith. Just try to ignore it. It was just Lance being Lance, not anything serious._

                It was no use. No matter how hard I tried to shove that stupid little incident into the back of my brain, those damn lyrics kept cartwheeling through my head—

                                (“ _I want to, I want to, I want to see how much love you can take in”)_

                —and I came close to hyperventilating again.

                “…. Keith? Are you okay?? You don’t look too good….”

                “I’m… I’m fine. Just… just a little lightheaded….”

                “Bro, are you sure? You’re really pale. Like, I know you’re always pale, but I mean, you’re _really, really pale—”_

 _“I’m fine, Pidge._ Just… Just give me a minute.”

                “Ooo-kayyy….”

                _Ignore it, Keith. You’ve gotta ignore it._

_Literally the only person making a big deal out of this is you._

I tried to ignore it. I really did.

                But then I remembered the feel of his lips moving so passionately against my own—

                                (“— _show my mouth your favorite places—”)_

—and the taste of him on my tongue—

                                                                ( _“—such beauty is a puzzle—”)_

—and the sensation of his body molding to mine—

                                 ( _— slowly—”_)

                —and then my entire world turned black.

…………………

                “Keith.”

                “ _Keeeeith._ ”

                “Heeeeeeyyy, Mullet!! _Get up!!!_ ”

                                _Ouch, my head…_

                The floor was cold against the planes of my back. The palm of my hand pressed against the side of my head, which was now _throbbing_ in pain.

                                _What… what happened??_

                I blinked my eyes open slowly.

                                The light was so bright. Damn.

                There was a figure standing over me. I shielded my eyes from the light as they adjusted to the sudden brightness.

                                It was Pidge, her fists on her hips and a playful smirk across her face.

                She raised an eyebrow at me.  “You okay??”

                I grunted and forced myself upright, rubbing my face with my hands. “Y-yeah. I think.”

                “Good, then get up. It’s getting late, and you’ve had an…. Eventful evening, to say the least.”

                “Pidge…. What happened??”

                “Nothing!! Nothing, you just….” Her sentence trailed off as she snickered, but then tried to smother it behind her hand.

                I glowered at her from my position on the floor. “ _Katie.”_

                She was _laughing_ now. “You fainted! You stood up and you fainted.” She took a moment to gather her breath before continuing. “Do you need some help getting to your room?” The little smirk across her pale features suddenly grew a thousand times more devilish than usual. “I mean, _I’m_ too little to carry you, but I could always get _Lance_ to come and—”

                “NO, NO,” I shouted at her, forcing myself to my feet and waving my hands. “No!! No Lance. I’ve had enough Lance for… for another phoeb. Or another deca-phoeb. Or another…. _Ten-thousand_ deca-phoebs.” I took a deep breath. “I… I can get to bed by myself.”

                She finally stifled her laughter long enough for it to subside. Despite this, there was still plenty of laughter dancing in her hazel eyes. “Okayyyy, if you say so. But I can always get him to come and sing you a lullaby if you want….”

                “ _No_. No. Leave me. Let me suffer in peace.”

                She began to laugh again as I began to make my way toward the door. “Okay, nerd. Whatever you say.”

                I scowled. I was beginning to get a little frustrated now.

                “Oh, and Keith?”

                I turned back to her. “Hm?”

                The laughter in her eyes had died now. Something more sympathetic had replaced it. “It isn’t _that_ bad. Him singing that to you and dancing, I mean.” She offered me a small smile. “Lance really does love you, you know. I can see it. In _everything_ he does. I just don’t think he really expected you to ever find out what that song really meant, so he was doing it to tease you. If I were you, I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

                “Too late.”

                The little devil smirk appeared again. “I know, I know. It makes your little heart go aflutter to think that Lance Charles Julio Esteban McClain would want to do dirty things to you slowly and would want to—what was that line in the song? — ‘surpass your danger zone’? ‘Make you scream and forget your last name’? Something like that.”

                I grimaced. “…You know, Pidgeon, you really aren’t helping.”

                “Oh, don’t worry.” She gave me a crap-eating grin. “I’m not trying to.”

                “What a relief.”

                She laughed. “Go get some sleep, almighty leader.”

                “Yeah. Okay.”

                And then we parted ways.

                I headed down the hall and into my room, fully knowing that I wouldn’t be getting a _wink_ of sleep that night.

 

                .... There would be far, far too much on my mind.


End file.
